A Forsaken's Dream
by Wraithfighter
Summary: The Royal Apothecary Society. The rumors are everywhere, how the whole organization was created turn the rest of the peoples of Azeroth into undead. As one priest will soon learn, the rumors left a few things out... One -shot.


_Blizzard Entertainment/Vivendi Universal Games/Activision Blizzard owns World of Warcraft and the Royal Apothecary Society. I suppose the characters are technically mine, but who really knows, all things considered. Fair Use allows me to do this, thankfully, as does the fact I've got nothing worth taking via a lawsuit._

_In any case, legal issues aside, enjoy the story, and please review if you liked it (or violently hated it, that works too)!_

_--_

Gorgen, for the first time in his not-quite-life, was truly afraid. It had been so long that he'd thought that his death and rebirth into the Banshee Queen's service had robbed him of his most vital emotion, just as it had robbed him of a few organs, most of the flesh around his elbows and knees, and, of course, most of the skin from his back.

Then again, never before had he received a summons to the Royal Apothecary Society.

He had heard all sorts of rumors about the RAS. That they had a Tauren chained up, as fodder for their experiments. That they were creating a new plague that would turn all living beings into Forsaken. Not to mention some of the more creative ones, rumors that turned Gorgen's rotted stomach, which was a impressive feat indeed. Rumors of the failed tests, for example, and how they technically were humanoid, if you took your definition of humanoid to mean four limbs, a head and a torso, and ignoring little things like skin, color or the presence of bones. He normally paid no attention to rumors, especially given the number that said Warchief Thrall had taken a human arch-mage as a mate, but in the circumstances these could not be ignored, especially the ones about what happened to the Forsaken summoned to their pits.

In life, Gorgen had been an accomplished Cleric of Northshire Abbey, and his death had not diminished his powers in the slightest. He was even a skilled alchemist, an accomplishment he now regretted with every moment, standing here outside the office of the one who had sent the summons. He knocked carefully, not wanting to barge in on someone whose summons included death threats.

"Enter," came the voice, one of the highest ranking alchemists in the RAS. Gorgen took a deep breath, a habit he had never managed to break regardless of how pointless it now was. He opened the door with a very appropriate creak, prepared to be horrified to whatever lay inside.

Much to his surprise, Gorgen only spotted one corpse, and given how it was sitting straight up it was likely the person who had just spoken, Deathmaster Halan. The office was actually rather normal, for an alchemist at least: a rather cluttered desk, complete with beakers, alembics, mortar and pestle, and a few open books, half covered with a number of sheets of what must be note paper. However, he did notice, out of the corner of his eye, a table, covered with a sheet that seemed to have a very... body-like shape underneath.

"Deathmaster Halan, you summoned me?" Gorgen spoke, trying to keep the fear out of his voice.

Halan grinned. "Please, just Halan, and you have no reason to fear. I have no intention of sending you to our pits. Just, sit down."

Gorgen mentally cursed, not wanting to show fear to anyone, and took a seat in a surprisingly comfortable chair. "Uh, Halan, your summons did not say why-"

"How many Forsaken currently exist, Gorgen?"

Gorgen blinked, surprised at the question. "I don't know, sir."

Halan nodded. "Of course. So, why do you think I summoned you here?"

"I am a decent alchemist, sir. I assume you are hiring." To be perfectly fair, that wasn't what Gorgen thought was the nature of the summons, more like a hope...

"Headhunting is the term, I believe," Halan said, grinning at Gorgen's subtle flinch. "So, what do you know about the Royal Apothecary Society?"

"You do research into new alchemical creations, testing possible ingredients, and provide our armies with most of the potions and elixirs we use in battle," Gorgen said, the answer being the standard, public one.

Halan nodded, still smiling. "What else do you know? Please, list the rumors you've heard. It's always entertaining to hear them."

Gorgen laughed nervously, that laugh always given to someone who can order your death. "Well, the largest one is that you're creating a new plague of undeath," he said, legs tensing up, ready to run.

Halan nodded again. "Very good, you keep up with rumor. So," he said, glancing down at a piece of paper, "tell me, what are the limits of resurrection spells?"

The answer came all on its own, a product of many years of education from when he still lived. "The subject must be completely dead, the subject must not have died of old age or natural causes, any body parts missing during casting will not regrow, however a skilled caster can re-attach severed body parts as part of the spell-casting, and all major organs must be intact, although the definition of 'major' is dependent on species."

"And rather varied for us Forsaken," Halan said with a laugh, standing up and motioning for Gorgen to follow. "Very good, all correct, save for some magics that only the Guardians of Tirisfal have supposedly been able to summon. Tell me, what are your thoughts on the RAS creating a new plague?"

Gorgen paused, hesitant in his answer. "It seems wrong. I know most of the Forsaken are all for it, but it seems... unholy to me, if you can believe that."

Halan laughed again, but there was no mockery in it. Merely a good-natured laugh, albeit with a bit of a death rattle. "I can. Tell me," he said, removing the sheet, "can she be resurrected?"

It was a gruesome sight. The Forsaken woman on the table had been torn asunder, apparently by something with large claws and a massive mouth. Still, all those skills that Gorgen had picked up healing the wounded and raising the dead after battles leapt in and focused him, preventing him from dwelling on what could have caused such damage. All of the limbs were there, no major damage to the chest cavity, at least beyond what rot had done after the plague took her, and-

Gorgen frowned as he took a look at her head. She was not unattractive, at least as Forsaken went, but regardless a hole in the top of the head is never a pleasing sight, regardless of species. "No. The brain has been too badly damaged. She'll rest forever now."

Halan nodded. "Indeed. A shame, she was a fine warrior." He shook his head, covering her with the sheet again. "Tell me, what bodily function is inactive for all Forsaken?" he said, walking back towards his chair.

"Uh, reproductive functions," Gorgen said, confused. For what he thought was a job interview, the questions were rather obvious.

"Correct. So, tell me," he said, that turn of phrase now beginning to annoy Gorgen, "why would we want to recreate the plague?"

"I..." Gorgen paused. "Other than as a weapon?" Halan nodded. "I don't know."

"Interesting. Tell me, were there more Forsaken a year ago than there are now?"

Gorgen hesitated, the obvious answer on what remained of his lips. "I don't understand, sir, why these questions? Any novice priest could answer any of them."

"The questions are being asked because I wish to ask him," Halan said, a hint of steel entering his voice. "If the answer is obvious, than answer it!"

"I..." Gorgen stuttered, fear overtaking him for the moment. "I suppose, there are fewer today?"

Halan stood suddenly, striding over to the table with the fallen warrior in two long steps. "Much fewer. No longer do new Forsaken rise from the crypts in Tirisfal. No longer can we replenish our numbers through more... conventional means." He exhaled sadly, no doubt also an old habit from his life, placing a hand upon the draped corpse's shoulder. "And we can still die. Our numbers will never again be as great as they were yesterday or the day before."

"And you would murder innocents to simply increase our numbers?" Gorgen said, rage boiling away the fear. He had never understood why so many of the Forsaken seemed to revel in the amoral, or why he clung to what he had known as a cleric of humanity, but he knew wrong when he heard it, and took no delight in any of it.

To the outburst, however, Halan merely smiled. "Ah, there's your backbone. I was wondering if it had rotted away as well. I won't pretend that much of the Society would gladly have things that way, but a member of a group rarely upholds all of the principals of the group." He returned to his seat, smiling like a hunter eyeing his prey. "Very well, no more easy questions.

What came next was an endless battery of questions. From the usage of silverleaf as a base for low-quality potions, to felweed for more potent ones. The strange properties that occurred from when oils from certain fish were combined with herbs of all types. The startling randomness that wildvine and ragveil exhibited, and the unusual viability of stranglekelp when combined with nearly any other herb. Even how certain, rare herbs managed to allow the potion's effects to persist after death, removing the need to consume a new one after a subsequent resurrection spell.

Gorgen was calling on theories that he had only recently heard of, and a few he was thinking up on the spot. It was more difficult than anything else he had been through, intellectually if nothing else. And, although Halan's constant usage of "Tell me" was slowly driving Gorgen insane, and after he stopped panicking about what failure could mean, he began having the time of his life.

Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Eventually, it all ended, probably because Halan had run out of questions to ask. "Well, you clearly know your alchemy. Really, there's only one question left."

"Will I work for you," Gorgen said flatly, reminding himself of what group was interviewing him.

Halan nodded. "One last question, simple though it may be. Tell me, the Plague of Undeath that created us all, could it be a single disease?"

Gorgen bit back an instinctive yes. He'd learnt never to underestimate the Lich King's power, but he sensed that Halan wasn't looking for paranoid instincts, rather learned opinions. "Thinking aloud for the moment," he said, closing his eyes to help focus on the task rather than Halan's stare. "The plague had three overall effects: Slay the victim, raise them as an undead, and bind their will to the Lich King. Only there were many cases where a person was slain through more... conventional means," he ignored Halan's chuckle, "and still became an undead bound to the Lich King. On the other hand, there are only a few spells that bind the will, some spells that zombify the undead, and countless ones that kill."

"So..." Halan prompted.

"Such magics can be resisted, however, although such cases would be rare given the power of the original caster. Combining the magics into one or two spells would be much more effective and reduce the possibilities of partial resistances. On the other, other hand-"

"Would you like me to lend you one? I'm sure there's a spare around here somewhere," he said, looking about theatrically.

Gorgen ignored that too. "If the killing spell is resisted, then no loss, since when they die normally then the other spells will still raise and bind. If the raising spell is resisted, then nothing happens. If the binding spell fails, then you just have a unbound undead surrounded by a large number of bound undead, and, while it could be a problem, it would be a very short-lived problem, so to speak."

Halan nodded, smirking a bit at the last. "Well analyzed, although I still don't hear an answer yet."

"Yes and no. It could have been a single spell, but it might have been more effective to keep it separate. The partial resists would be easily handled, and combining different spells into one often creates some unexpected side effects."

"In fact, it was two. The killing spell was separated from the raising and binding spells. The former is of no consequence, and the binding in the latter is not something we would wish to replicate in a new plague, although I don't mind saying that a great number of our group are quite interested in finding a counter to the binding spell, to sow chaos in the Lich King's ranks."

"So then, why? Why create a new Plague of Undeath?"

"We are not trying to create a Plague of Undeath, at least," he scoffed," not my group. The Horde would disown us and then the Alliance would destroy us in quite short order. And then there's the morality of such a plague No, what I am trying to do is create an immortality spell. Of sorts, at least," he said, chuckling. "Certainly not the traditional sort of immortality."

He stood again, walking slowly to the fallen warrior on the slab. "Our numbers dwindle. In ten years, there might be none of us left, since our enemies will overcome us eventually without, hah, fresh blood to increase our numbers. One of the basics of nature is that a species that cannot reproduce will never last. Even with our vaunted agelessness, we still die as the elves do."

Gorgen shook his head sadly. "That does not excuse murder and desecration."

Halan whirled upon Gorgen and snarled at him. "Have you heard nothing of what I have said? Must I connect all of the dots, or does your genius only extend to grinding flowers? Shut up and think for a moment!"

Gorgen opened his mouth for a retort, no longer hiding in fear, but his mind had been thinking all the time, without him. _He wants to reinforce our numbers, he doesn't murder, he's not a bad person, and he's been studying the plague that created us all,_ his brain supplied all on its own. _Do _I_ have to do all the work around here?_

"You want to create new Forsaken out of the willing."

Halan's face betrayed nothing. "Go on."

"The best way to increase our numbers is to create new Forsaken with the old plague, but you must work with it in order to remove the gaes portion of the spell. Raise them as Forsaken, but not bound to the Lich King. And how many humans, orcs, and other short-lives races would be willing to sacrifice a little for immortality? Only take volunteers. The druids and shamans would complain that it's against nature, but they complain about working iron. The followers of the Light would rage, but when don't they?"

Halan nodded. "It would complicate a great many things in politics, but at least we would, hah, live to deal with the problem."

"You could probably do it properly, too. Infect-"

"Apply. They would be willing, after all."

"Right, apply it carefully, and with a clean killing spell they could be raised looking very much like they had before. And because the shamans, druids and light-sworn would object greatly to it, they would have nowhere else to go but the Forsaken."

"Don't underestimate Thrall or the Alliance. One does not lead so many people, or such a variety of people, without developing a certain... pragmatism regarding things. But they would still be indebted to us for giving them eternal life, and the subtle social pressures in their former homes would do the work their leaders wouldn't."

Gorgen paused. "Is that the master plan? The reason for the Royal Apothecary Society? To create a cure for aging?"

Halan laughed. "No, no, just my small part of it. It's a society, Gorgen! A group of people! No, the RAS is large enough that there are dozens of projects going on all at once. The Dark Lady gave me permission for this little endeavor, if only because it gives her an excuse for the less... tidy experiments that go on around here."

"Less tidy," Gorgen said flatly.

"Yes, like the one with the sheep that exploded." Halan chuckled. "That was an interesting mess, to say the least. I won't pretend I like everything that goes on here, but it's a means to an end and the only way I'll get the coin I need to continue my experiments. Imagine, Gorgen! A world of Forsaken, not forced into this life but led here, willingly! The Paladins may damn my soul, but it'll be a long time until it'll be up for judgment, and if I succeed I'll gladly accept whatever punishment is doled out. So, tell me, would you join my little gang of alchemists?"

_Means to an end._ Gorgen thought. _He's not mad, no, he's determined. He's a man who is accepting the costs, whatever they may be, just to do what he feels must be done. And damn it if he's not likable._

_Hmm. Is this what Arthas' men were thinking, standing in that frozen wasteland, chasing that Nathrezim? Follow the man to the ends of Azeroth, if only to stop him when he was about to go too far? Worked out wonderfully for them..._

And yet, Gorgen had to admit, the vision appealed to him. A world of Forsaken...

"No sentient test subjects."

Halan nodded. "Of course, unless they are willing."

"Define willing." Gorgen knew what willing could mean in the hands of the unprincipled.

"I don't subject prisoners of war to these experiments. I don't use 'submit or be executed' as subjects, either. We don't have anything to test on them yet, in any case."

Gorgen nodded. "What's the pay?"

Halan laughed. "Like you wouldn't believe..."


End file.
